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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745010">Marsy's Inktober 2020 collection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanoCheesy/pseuds/RomanoCheesy'>RomanoCheesy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Drowning, Giving Up, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Luggage, Mermaids, Ocean, Packing, Panic Attacks, Poetry, Radio static, Running Away, Snow, Wisp - Freeform, but like not all of it, organ mention, tags will be updated as we go, unnamed characters involved, willo the wisp</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:22:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,577</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanoCheesy/pseuds/RomanoCheesy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots written for inktober, I'll individually add triggers in the top notes as we go, but tags will be regularly updated. Hope y'alls enjoy!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt: fish</p><p>Trigger warnings: implied drowning, implied character death, ocean</p><p>Characters: Virgil, Roman</p><p>Summary: Virgil's boat crashes on a cluster of rocks painfully just too far away from shore. The song approaches, but is it there to help him or to harm him? Or is it just having fun?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A gentle song carried its way through the waves, hauntingly beautiful and perfect in pitch. Virgil had heard these songs before, but figured he was just delirious from aimlessly drifting across the vast ocean, alone in his small boat. He lay back and stared up at the night sky, the stars glistening as though they too, were listening. It was so much easier to see them in all their majesty when he wasn’t staring out the window, his eyes fighting against the blinding streetlights. Out here was nice, and the song, while it would have normally made him feel absolutely terrified because waves shouldn’t sing, was calming, and almost alluring. But he knew searching for it would mean certain death at the hands of starvation and dehydration, as it seemed to come from the opposite direction he was travelling. He had almost drifted into a peaceful slumber when his little boat hit a patch of rocks with a jolt, knocking him to the floor. He scrambled to his feet and headed to the front of the boat where it had been caught, and attempted to shake it loose. But to no avail. The boat was stuck fast, and he would have to climb out to dislodge it. So cautiously he jumped down onto the rocks, which were smooth and wave-worn. His boat had gotten itself crammed precariously between two of the large stones, and it appeared whichever way he pushed, the boat would break. The shore was so painfully close now, and yet only just visible. Great, this was the perfect place to be marooned. He sat down on the wet surface and took a closer look at the issue, but it remained the same amount of stuck, and no new solution seemed to present itself. He slumped against the cured wooden surface and huffed, refusing to let despair set in. Despair helped no one, it only got people killed. As he sat and waited, he hardly noticed the song grow louder and closer, as if the source was rapidly advancing toward him. He listened to it, the sound not ever moving further, only closer and closer, as if it knew exactly where he was. Now it sounded like it was coming from almost right in front of him, although he could see no source. It most definitely must have been a delusion. Then, a large, scaly tail broke the surface of the water. The scales were a beautiful pearly white that shifted to a golden hue when the light hit them at a certain angle, and the huge fan-tail faded from white to gold to a deep crimson. It vanished beneath the waves, and a human-looking creature emerged, resting its arms on the rocks. It had deeply tanned skin and chestnut hair lined with streaks of red and gold, and its eyes were huge. The sclera and irises were the same pearly shade, and the pupils were long slits that dilated. It had large fin-like ears that ended in the same crimson, and its fingers were webbed and tipped with long claws. It had large red lips, and a thin jawline. It also appeared to have red fins adorning its arms and back. It stared up at Virgil in an expression of pure wonder, before beginning to sing again. Its mouth was lined with rows of tiny sharp teeth, like a small shark. When the waves weren’t disguising it, the song was more perfect, more beautiful, more alluring than ever. It flicked its pearlescent tail a few times with enjoyment, and extended its arms out to the man sitting on the rocks. Virgil was torn. On one hand, he was this close to shore and who knows what would happen if he accepted the creature’s gesture. On the other hand though, he had left so long ago he didn’t even remember how long he had been drifting, and no one had bothered to stop him. No one cared if he disappeared anyway. So with a deep breath and a small nod, he took the creature’s large hands and shuffled forward. Then, it pulled him off the rocks with a firm yank and a mischievous smile. It wrapped its lanky arms around him, pinning his arms to his torso, and began swimming away from the rocks, away from the shore, and away from the safety of his boat with a speed he could scarcely imagine. He could almost swear it was laughing with how much it seemed to be enjoying itself. As the rock formation drifted out of sight, the creature took a sudden dive. Water rushed up Virgil’s nose as the waves drowned out the sound of his protests, and the creature’s grip was strong enough that no matter how much he squirmed and wriggled and tried to push away, he couldn’t. It dove further down, the pressure growing and threatening to crush the remaining air out of his lungs. They already burned with effort and the desire to breathe, but at this rate, even if he did escape, he would never reach the surface in time, let alone still have the strength to make it back to his boat. He was doomed anyways, so there was nothing that prevented him from opening his mouth and taking a large breath in. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wisp</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt: wisp</p><p>Triggers: minor panic attack</p><p>Summary: a first-person perspective poem of a small boy meeting a willo-the-wisp.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If you go into the forest, said Pa, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You may meet a willo-the-wisp</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re silly and playful and kind, said Pa </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they like it when the air is crisp </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But a boy is not one to ever sit still</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Pa found out when Winter arrived</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I snuck out when the snow was resting still</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of warmth, the air was deprived</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I crept through the snow with my nose all blushed</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With my little red mittens on hand</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When past me a little light, pinky-blushed, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Searched for its wispy band </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It flitted around, and it seemed quite lost</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it tried hard to hide from sight</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it seemed its wispy band was lost</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it chirped and it chittered with fright</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So I grabbed the small thing in my wooly glove</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And I peeked at its pale little face</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it curled up in fear in the little glove</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never budging from that very place</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The poor wisp must have been absolutely afraid</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it shook and it cried in a ball</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I never knew they could be so extremely afraid</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made sense though, to it I was tall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So I opened my hand to let it be free</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And watched as it flittered away</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I seemed to be happier once it was free</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I remember it to this very day. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welcome to the second installment of the inktober 2020 collection! It's prolly a bit weird, a poem showing up in the collection, but as of now I only have an hour and a half left of day two and this was the best I could come up with. Hope y'alls enjoy anyways, </p><p>-Marsy</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bulky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt: bulky</p><p>Triggers: organ mention</p><p>Summary: Logan has to pack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Logan had a long trip to pack for, and as such, he had a lot to pack. Now, he was a very logic-oriented man, and one would think he could do it without much struggle. But that was not the case. The case was on the floor, empty, and waiting to be packed. He had a lot of things he wanted to bring, but he also had to be able to close the bulky suitcase. Thus far, he had packed a few of his favourite clothes that he wore all the time, and his tie collection. Although, now that he thought about it, maybe he shouldn’t pack his entire collection. So he picked out just a few, and returned the rest to his closet. He needed the space, after all. He figured he should perchance set out all the things he wanted to bring so he could physically see it all in front of him, and that would help him figure things out. So without hesitation, he went about gathering all his things to make his choices a little simpler. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Logan now had everything laid out, covering his bedroom floor. He could see a few essentials that he knew he would need, including his tooth brush, toothpaste and Agatha Christie novels. So he packed them into his case, and took another look around. There were so many things that he could see that could be most helpful. He decided his ballpoint pens and notebooks would make sense to bring, so he put them into the suitcase as well. His textbooks were too big, and so was his human anatomy model. So he put those away in order to clear up a bit of space on his floor. He decided on bringing a pillow and blanket, as well as his unicorn onesie, but left behind his plush bear. He decided there was space for the calcified heart Remus had given him, so he wrapped it up and packaged it so it would not be damaged. He packed many more things into the case, some of which might earn him a few odd glances from the airport security, but he could explain it all with a few papers he packed. A good few of those papers might have been forged, but he didn’t remember. He shut the lid of his bulky case and held it shut as he strapped the lid, his luggage fighting back as if it were a person he was trying to kidnap. But it was a battle he won, and soon he was out the door, loading his pack into his car and promising himself that he wouldn’t procrastinate so much in future when he had places to be. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm back with an upload that isn't poetry, v sorry it's so short, the prompt was hard to work with.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Radio</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt: radio</p><p>Triggers: implied physical abuse, salty apartment neighbor</p><p>Summary: That radio will not turn off.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Come in, come in.” the radio crackles. I can’t change the station or turn off the incessant static, and believe me, I’ve tried. I shove my headphones back on and try to block it out, so I put on some relaxing hard rock. I know how that sounds, hard rock is generally high-energy and the exact opposite of relaxing to most people, but I enjoy it. It’s always been the one thing I enjoy. I shove a pillow over the side of my head, in hopes that it will drown it out. Unfortunately though, it doesn’t. I can still hear it, and I wonder how the next apartment over hasn’t made a noise complaint yet. Especially since the walls are paper-thin. I mean, George complains when I have the volume on the television above thirteen. Yet the radio’s stuck on full volume, and he doesn’t even notice it. I grumble as I sit up and turn to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good lord, I can’t take it. You gonna do my bidding or what?” I complain to it. Yeah, I talk to inanimate objects. It’s a habit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in, come in. I won’t stop until I get my response.” it says. I rub my eyes and crack my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ya won’t, huh? Fine. Uh, this is some over-exhausted crow person, come in, over.” I say tiredly, I realise how dumb I sound right now but hey, I’ve got nothing better to do anyways. It crackles with static. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank god. This is, uh, I shouldn’t say my name for legal reasons. C, uh, call me Bird. Are you still listening? Over.” it responds. It then hits me that that old radio doesn’t even have any sort of audio pickup device, so by all accounts it doesn’t make sense that this Bird character can hear me. Ah well, they sound nervous so if they need someone to talk to, I guess I can fill that role. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m listening. What’cha need? Over.” I reply, almost chuckling. All this is happening in October, for crying out loud. Figures it’d happen in spook month. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much. I just need someone to talk to, I haven’t spoken to anyone else in so long. Except- except </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Over.” Bird says, their voice dropping to a whisper at that last word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we ain’t touching that topic til you’re ready. So whaddya wanna talk about? Over.” I ask, getting comfy. If Bird needs someone to chat to, so be it. They sound kind of paranoid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Uh, I guess we should start with some simple introductions, maybe? Over.” they suggest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good. Call me Crow, and I use he pronouns. Your turn, over.” I say, and listen for the response in the static. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, you can call me Bird, and I’m a she. Over.” Bird replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then, Bird, let’s chat.” I say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’ve been chatting with Bird for about a month now, and honestly, she’s a really interesting person. She likes hand-sewing, which, from what I’ve heard, comes in handy as she sews a lot of her own clothes, especially skirts. I often hear weird sounds in the background of the static, but I can’t make it out and I don’t think she’s ready to talk about it yet. I’ve gotten one complaint from George, but he complained about how loudly I, quote, “Chats to his imaginary boyfriend” so that’s weird, but whatever. But right now, I’m at the radio again, chatting to Bird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But anyways, who knew people could get so brutal when buying hygiene products? Over.” she says with a giggle. I chuckle as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s almost as if they actually needed it, but like, a dozen people. Folks these days are wild. Over.” I say. Man, I would die for this woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely. But hey, I’ve handled worse than a few hits to the face. Over.” she admits, but then I hear a loud inhale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think so? Over.” I say, keeping the tone light for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh, things happen. You know how it is. Over.” she says, and I can almost feel the shrug coming from the other line. I can hear another voice in the background of the thick static, so I listen in. Then, a voice from next door yells, one I know all too well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up already before I come over there and shut you up myself!” George yells through the walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, it won’t happen again!” I call, somehow in perfect unison with Bird. We both go silent for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said the same thing.” she says, her voice astonished. “You said the same thing as me. At the same time. Over.” her voice is shaking a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did, huh. Over,” I say, honestly a bit miffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Crow. Over and out.” she says, and the static slowly fades out. I examine the radio, trying to figure out what brought all this on, and what stopped it. As I lean behind the table, I notice that the thing is unplugged. It had been for the past month and a bit. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here we go, this chapter is later than I like to post, but I hope you guys enjoy nonetheless.</p><p>-Marsy</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Sorry guys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hey there, guys, it's the author.</p><p> </p><p>So I've been on holiday for a bit and unable to update, but I could bring my little prompt list with me to think about the pieces and what would work best for each prompt, and I had a realisation.</p><p> </p><p>I went into this really quickly and without much thought, and I usually spend a minimum of a month thinking over a concept before I even start writing, and this thing is a prompt a day. I've had to rush concepts and as such, I've been pumping out content at an exhausting rate that's left me completely unmotivated to keep going, and I've been giving you one-shots that are sad and completely lacklustre. It's not fair to me to be working at such a rate, and it's not fair to you guys that I'm left offering you works I wouldn't even offer myself.</p><p> </p><p>As such, I regret to inform you that I will not be continuing this inktober series. I'm really sorry.</p><p> </p><p>Take care, guys</p><p>- Marsy</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So what do y'alls think of prompt one? I'm kinda proud of it myself. Oh, and sorry if I missed a trigger, I'll try to keep on top of that. But anyways, hope you enjoyed, and have a nice day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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